


The Dragon Has Two Heads

by visenya__v



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dany will get revenge, F/M, Fix-It, House Targaryen, Jonerys, Resurrection, Rhaegal isn't killed because that was beyond stupid, and jon will help her, and then vengeance, but then happy, fire and blood bitches, fuck D&D, mostly canon till 8x04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 04:22:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19760506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visenya__v/pseuds/visenya__v
Summary: “You are the true heir to the throne, a trueborn Targaryen son. They may rally behind you to avenge their fallen queen, your kin.”Just then, shouting could be heard in the distance, echoing off the thick stone walls of the keep. Avenge her? He was speaking of it as if someone had…Jon lifted an ink-soaked hand and gripped the front of Varys’ robe like a vice, staining the fine lavender cloth.“What did you do?”Varys succeeds in betraying Daenerys on Dragonstone, and expects Jon to be the grateful and cooperative new king. But Jon remains loyal to his queen, and refuses to accept that she's gone forever. He plans to return with Daenerys to exact revenge on those that betrayed his love, with fire and blood.





	The Dragon Has Two Heads

A dragon’s screech stretched across the water and met Jon’s ears as he sat in a dinghy on his way to the shores of Dragonstone. It sounded different than usual, almost anguished. The sound immediately made Jon anxious. He urged his men to row harder, eager to get to shore and speak with Daenerys. He expected that she would meet him on the sands, or at least he hoped that she would. But he looked across the gray seawater and saw no silver-haired majesty waiting for him; just one bald man. A less desirable welcome than the one he’d been imagining, certainly.

Upon landing, Jon had barely taken two steps out of the rowboat before Varys was beside him in the shallow water.

“Did you miss me that much, Lord Varys?” Jon asked sarcastically.

“My lord, I’m afraid I must speak with you quite urgently.” There were no pleasantries, no trace of a smile upon the eunuch’s face.

“Where’s the queen? I thought she might greet me.”

Varys clutched Jon’s arm, surprising him. “Please, my lord…we must speak.” He repeated.

Jon nodded, his worry increasing at Varys’ serious demeanor.

He led Jon inside the keep, past Unsullied and Dothraki standing guard in the halls. Some nodded in acknowledgment at Jon; the queen’s men had finally grown less chilly towards him since he’d fought amongst them at the Battle of Winterfell. Dany had confided in him that it pleased her to see, for the opinions of her people were important to her and she had hoped they would grow to respect Jon as she did. It disheartened Jon that he couldn’t say the same about his people in the North regarding their new queen.

Once inside the advisor’s chambers, Varys barred the door behind them.

Puzzled and growing more concerned by the second, Jon inquired, “What is it that couldn’t wait?”

Varys drew himself up to his full height, though still not tall, seeming to prepare himself for what he was about to say. “I know of your true parentage, Jon Snow. The tragic son of Lyanna Stark and the noble Prince Rhaegar. Their _legitimate_ son. Not a wayward Snow after all.”

Sansa. Jon knew it must have been her; Arya wasn’t one to play at politics. Both his sisters had given their word that they would keep his secret, beneath the sacred heart tree no less. He never would have expected Sansa to break it, she learned the importance of staying true to one’s oaths from their father just as Jon had. Yet she forsake it anyway, as Daenerys had warned him she would if he was foolish enough to tell her.

“How?” Jon doubted Sansa had told Varys directly. She didn’t trust him, and rightly so.

The Spider shrugged. “Does it matter? No, what matters is that I do know.” He paused. “And that changes things.”

Jon looked at him sharply. “It changes nothing.”

“Oh, it changes a great deal, my lord. You have a claim. A stronger claim than Daenerys.”

He knew this would happen. He knew he would become a tool in political machinations, a pawn in a game he wanted no part of. “No, I renounce my claim. I will not have it. Daenerys is the rightful queen, I support her claim—“

“Daenerys is dead.”

A beat of silence.

Impossible. Jon didn’t believe it. How could she be? She was safe in the confines of Dragonstone, her armies and dragons shielding her. Yet a pit had opened unbidden inside of Jon at Varys’ words, and he felt himself teetering on the edge of it, peering down into a familiar abyss.

“Don’t—don’t say such things…” Jon stuttered, staring at Varys, looking for any hint that he was making some sick jape.

But Varys’ face remained as solemn as before. “I speak nothing but truth, my lord. The queen has died this day.”

The pit inside of Jon grew larger, the blackness hurtling towards him, enveloping him. He couldn’t speak. He stumbled a step backwards into a table, knocking a pot of ink over. The midnight ink seeped across the parchment, leeching the color from everything and pooling beneath Jon’s fingers. _How could this have happened?_ She had battled like Visenya reborn against death itself only a few weeks past and won, surely there was nothing that could befall her after such a feat.

“The castle is yet unaware. Though I suspect her dragons sense it, their cries are unmistakable.” Varys walked closer to Jon. “It is imperative that we move quickly; it is only a matter of time before an Unsullied or one of her blood riders finds her. You must remain blameless.”

“What are you talking about?” Jon sputtered, only half hearing what he was saying over the painful pounding of his heart in his ears.

“You are the true heir to the throne, a trueborn Targaryen son. They may rally behind you to avenge their fallen queen, your kin.”

Just then, shouting could be heard in the distance, echoing off the thick stone walls of the keep. _Avenge her?_ He was speaking of it as if someone had…

Jon lifted an ink-soaked hand and gripped the front of Varys’ robe like a vice, staining the fine lavender cloth.

“What did you do?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still pissed about season 8, clearly. If Daenerys had to die in season 8, (she didn't have to, fuck D&D), this would have been one way to do it that I would've accepted. Imagine, we could've had resurrected power couple Jon and Dany.
> 
> (I might change the title if I think of something better later lol)


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